


Cry

by orlesiantitans



Series: 100 Themes [19]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her voice broke on the last word, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Alistair’s hands flailed for a moment, clearly unsure what to do, before he finally pulled her close to him. That was the final straw. She felt tears escaping her, and he stood, taking her with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cry

Elissa dragged the whetstone across her blade, eyebrows creased in concentration and her lips thin. It was somewhat soothing, and it took her mind off of things- the nightmares that plagued her every night, and the memories in her waking hours. Even just focusing on something so simple kept her focused, for a short time.

 

She heard footsteps come up behind her, and barely glanced up as Alistair approached. He sat heavily next to her, and she muttered out a greeting of some sort.

 

“I noticed you were looking  _ particularly _ melancholy. I just thought I’d come and check up on you,” he told her. She quirked a lip in an attempt to reassure him.

 

“I look melancholy? Alistair, I’m just sharpening my blade. It’s called concentration.”

 

“Oh,  _ that’s _ what that expression was? Explains why I’m so unfamiliar with it.”

 

He was grinning at her and she couldn’t help but return the smile. His smiles did things to her heart, had it rushing in her chest. It was complicated, uncomfortable even. She’d had her share of crushes, of course. A stable boy, an elf who’d brought her flowers and blushed when she accepted them. Gilmore, who bought her a necklace despite being adamant they could not be together. King Cailan, though she was fairly certain most of the ladies of Ferelden had wanted him at some point in their lives. Having met him, she’d very quickly gotten over that youthful infatuation.

 

Alistair was something else entirely. Just over two years her senior, he bumbled over every second word, blushing furiously whenever she paid him a compliment or attempted to flirt. She thought he was interested, but was nervous about progressing things past the odd flirtation. Her mother’s lessons about the importance of chastity remained clear in her mind, and the fear that she’d be ruined for her future husband- as if she could really still marry, after all this. She was broken beyond repair, was going to have difficulty conceiving, and was a Grey Warden to boot. Even if she survived the Blight, there was a very real chance that she wouldn’t have much of a life afterwards.

 

“Coin for your thoughts?” came Alistair’s voice from beside her, and he nudged her shoulder with his own. She sighed and put down her blade, looking over at him. For once, his face was devoid of humour, serious and concerned. She swallowed, closed her eyes.

 

“Need to keep distracted,” she murmured. “I barely sleep, but I suspect you have that problem too. But every time I stop to think about anything… I see them all. Mother, father, Oriana.. Oren. He was only seven, you know? Kept begging me to teach him how to use a sword.”

 

Her voice broke on the last word, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Alistair’s hands flailed for a moment, clearly unsure what to do, before he finally pulled her close to him. That was the final straw. She felt tears escaping her, and he stood, taking her with him. She was guided slowly to his tent, and he closed the flap behind them. She knew this was about getting her away from the rest of the party, knew he was protecting her from what she hated most- showing weakness. He sat down again, and she gripped him tightly.

 

“I realized recently that I met your family before,” he began. “You came to Eamon’s estate before I left for the Chantry. I was ten when I left, but it must have been a year before that. Your brother was the same age as me. He played with me in the stables and the two of you went out riding the day before you left.”

 

She frowned and then sat back, eyes widening. 

 

“I remember that. The Arlessa got angry at Fergus, she said he had no place playing with a ba-” she cut herself off on the last word, and his lips thinned. He could complete the last part of the sentence without her voice adding to it, she was sure of that much.

 

She swallowed and pulled back from him, wiping frantically at her eyes, and continued, “Mother was furious with her. She didn’t approve of children born out of the marital bed, but she also didn’t like that kind of language to speak of them. ‘Not their fault their parents were foolish’, she always said.”

 

Alistair looked down at that, a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, before he looked back at her and grinned. Her heartbeat quickened. 

 

“Wonder if she’d retract that statement if she knew how improper that bastard became. Taking a lady into his tent?”

 

They shared a laugh, and she looked up at him with wide eyes, before leaning up to press her lips to his. He let out a small noise and again his hands raised in panic. After a moment, however, they settled on her waist and he kissed back.

 

It was clumsy, with the occasional bout of giggling when their teeth or tongues got a little too involved. In the end, she was astride him, and she jumped when the evidence of his desire pressed up against her stomach. Shakily, her hand went to touch him, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling back with a blush and his eyes wide with surprise.

 

“I, ah, sorry. I just… carried away. Could… never done that before,” he shifted under her gaze, and she smiled at him, shrugging.

 

“Me neither. But it was nice,” she mumbled. He puffed up.

 

“Nice? Just what every man wants to hear, I’m sure,” he told her, though his eyes were teasing, and he adjusted his trousers.

 

“You should probably go back to your tent,” he mumbled, and she reached forward again, hand managing to touch him this time. He let out a gasp but shook his head.

 

“Liss, please, not… tonight. Want to wait. For the right time. Not now. Okay?” he watched her closely, and she pulled back her hand, putting it onto her lap. 

  
“I’m going to go back to my tent now,” she smiled. “I feel better now… I… thank you.”   
  
He nodded and she crawled to the tent flap, bit her lip, and left. Waving a hand at Zevran, who was on duty, she let herself into her own tent, hand creeping down her belly when she got there. She may have only a few months to live, but at least she’d have someone to spend them with.


End file.
